A Chapter of Firsts
by Savannah Runes
Summary: Will Herondale and Jem Carstairs have been friends since they were twelve. They have both encountered horrible things, but their friendship has proved to be a welcome distraction. Now they are seventeen, and things are rapidly changing between the two of them. And by some twist of fate, their complicated feelings for each other don't seem to be their biggest problem...
1. The First Time We Met

**A/N: Hi! New story, finally. This is kind of something that I thought up like two days ago and the first chapter was surprisingly easy to write, so here we have it!**

**So this is set in a no-Shadowhunter-verse, which I figure is fairly self explanatory. The beginning plot is much the same, and this first chapter is essentially a rewrite of Will and Jem's meeting, but as the story evolves there will be lots more original content. It will vaguely follow the infernal devices plot, but i mean that in the loosest term possible. And of course, there is the small matter of heronstairs, which is one of my fave pairings so naturally this story revolves around Will and Jem (slowly) falling in love. It's set in the Victorian era, the same time period as tid, but no shadowhunters...**

**oops this a/n is long and probably confusing but whatever. Remember there's slash, so if you don't like, don't read**

**Be sure to leave a review!**

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><p>Will Herondale was twelve when his life changed forever.<p>

He had been living at the Institute, the house in which the generous and extremely kind Charlotte and Henry Branwell has taken him in, for but a few months and had already settled into a routine:

Annoy Jessamine, who was the other ward of the Branwells and who was a year or so older than Will with perfect blonde hair and a sickly sweet voice. She was so impossibly girly with her doll house and pink dresses, and so easy to make fun of, and Will knew that she despised him.

Annoy Charlotte, who Will secretly thought was amazing; she was clearly very intelligent and the head of the house, even though she was a woman. And though Will respected and admired her, he kept her from forming an attachment to him with the occasional rude comment and avoiding her as much as possible. He knew that Charlotte would never hate him but she would also never love him if he didn't let himself get too close, and that was enough.

Annoy Henry, who spent all day in his laboratory tinkering around with his latest invention. Will kept Henry's affection away by putting down his work every so often, laughing and ridiculing it. It pained Will every time he saw the enthusiastic light in Henry's eyes flicker as Will mocked his latest breakthrough, as Will knew that Henry was a genius and he loved seeing his inventions really, but Will could take no chances.

Annoy the servants, such as Sophie, the girl with the scar across her face, or Agatha and Bridget, the cooks, or Thomas and Cecil. He liked all of them, yet he was often sarcastic and rude towards them, just in case.

All in all, Will annoyed a lot of people. And god, it was exhausting.

He hadn't realised just how easily people formed attachments, which easily turned into some form of love. Keeping them at bay was the worst thing Will had ever had to do in his life. He'd thought that simply running away would solve the problem, but it was something that he had to do in everyday life even here in London, miles and miles away from his family.

But he would continue to push people away, to not let anyone get close. He'd do it for the rest of his life if he had to, even if he was beyond miserable. He wouldn't let anyone else get hurt, not like Ella. And he was scared, so scared of that _thing, _the blue-skinned creature that had cursed him to be like this. He had no idea what it was, no idea what it wanted. It was like something from a nightmare, something that Will had never even dreamed of existing. It had terrified him, and that fear was part of the reason that he would never allow anyone to love him.

He had ran away from home, from his loving family who he missed achingly, because of that fear. After, surprisingly, being taken under Charlotte and Henry's wing, he distanced himself because of that fear. He had thought that fear would be the strongest emotion he would ever feel.

He had been painstakingly wrong about that fact.

When he had heard that a young boy of his age named James Carstairs would be joining him and Jessie at the Institute, he had such mixed feelings. In any other circumstances he would be delighted to be able to maybe make a new friend. But he knew that James would just be another person he would have to make dislike him. He hoped and prayed that James was dislikeable himself; that would make this whole thing so much easier.

Will was sitting in the training room the day that James was supposed to arrive. Charlotte had explained that he was an orphan from China, and she had known his father's family so when she had heard about the situation James was in, she knew that they had to take him in. The training room was a bleak place with padded floors and a few wooden weapons in the corner. There were so many rooms in the labyrinthine Institute that it made sense to have a room solely for combat training. Will had only used it a handful of times, as there was no one willing to teach him any actual combat techniques, but it was a room without distraction, which was something he was in need of on this particular day. He needed something to take his mind off the new arrival.

There was another dull thud as another knife ricocheted off the target Will had set up and landed on the floor yet again. He wasn't sure exactly what had inspired him to pick up knife throwing on that particular day, and he knew Charlotte wouldn't approve as she would claim it to be 'dangerous for a young boy such as him' but he didn't care. The frustration that accompanied being absolutely useless at it was somehow relaxing, as it took his mind off other things.

He picked up another knife, and flung it across the room with all his strength, only for it to miss the target by about a metre and clang against the floor. A cry of exasperation flew from his lips as he angrily went over to retrieve the damn thing, cursing under his breath as he moved across the room.

'You know, you're shockingly awful at throwing knives. It's quite sad really."

A smooth, musical voice had spoken from the door, a voice that Will had never heard before. It had the lilt of an accent, and if a voice could be beautiful, then his voice was. The melodic quality of it sent a shiver running down Will's spine, unbidden and surprising. He froze in his tracks, and slowly turned to face the boy who that voice belonged to.

He was neither tall nor short for a twelve year old; Will suspected he would be taller but not by very much. He stood by the door, his very slender frame leaning slightly on the door post. The clothes he wore hung off his body in such a way that could not be entirely healthy, His hands were clasped in front of him with long fingers. Musician's hands, Will thought immediately. Only musician's hands were as refined as that. His hair was shockingly silver, throwing Will's expectations of a dark haired Chinese boy out of the window. He did not know how such a shade could possibly be natural. He wouldn't have believed it, until he saw his eyes. His eyes were impossibly light, silver lamps shining out to match his hair. Those eyes unnerved him, but in a thrilling sort of way. Mystery and sadness were wrapped around within them, and Will had never before been so captivated by someone's eyes, or appearance in general for that matter. He had never seen someone like him, and he knew that he never would again. He was truly unique, in such a dazzling sort of way.

A smile tugged on the boy's thin lips, a smile that lit up his entire face, morphing it from something that could so easily be sombre and haunting into something that was delightful, and maddeningly beautiful. Will found him wanting to study that smile for the rest of his life.

"You are William Herondale, I presume? Mrs Branwell told me I could find you in here, and I must admit I was impressed to hear that you trained in physical combat, though I must say I'm disappointed at you quite obvious lack of skill. Although it is rather amusing, I must admit."

He spoke with a confidence that Will could not seem to associate with his almost sickly body. The boy looked like he should be in a hospital, not standing here chastising him about knife throwing.

And no one talked to Will like that. Will was not used to being teased, in fact he was used to being the one doing the teasing. He felt like the control of the conversation had already been snatched from him before he had even uttered a word. It was a new sensation to him.

Will put the knife down and strode over to him, trying to inject some confidence in his gait. First impressions count, after all. "I am indeed William Herondale, though most people call me Will. And you are James Carstairs? Charlotte told me of your arrival today. And I do not see why you are scolding me about the skill of knife throwing. You look so sick that I fear you would not even be able to pick up a knife, much less throw one."

Sarcasm that verged upon rudeness was his friend, he knew it well. He had grown to master it within the months he had been staying here, and though he felt awful using it on this seemingly innocent boy with the mysterious colouring, he knew that he had to lest James actually started liking him.

James dropped his smile, seriousness taking over his whole physique. He was still so striking, though Will found himself missing the smile. Just as he thought this, James walked over to him, his strides confident of not a bit weak. There was no denying that the young boy before him was ill, though in what way Will could not decipher.

James stopped when he was facing Will, close enough to touch. He found himself resisting the urge to reach out and touch James's face, which was extremely peculiar and he had never had an urge of that sort ever before, which sent butterflies swirling in the pit of Will's stomach. Then James reached out and plucked the knife out of Will's unresisting hands, weighing it up in his beautifully dexterous hands. Without warning the knife was flashing across the room, and with a deadly accuracy it embedded itself in the heart of Will's target, dead centre.

He couldn't help himself: he gulped and stood staring at this silver mystery of a boy. He wouldn't have been surprised if his mouth had been open.

Looking annoyingly smug, James turned back to him. "Do not presume to know anything about me just yet, Will. It seems that just because I am obviously sick in some way, I am completely disabled in your eyes. Which is so clearly untrue." He took another knife from beside Will's feet and hurled it at the target again, landing it virtually on top of the first, as if to prove a point. This, unfortunately, only made Will like him more.

"I'm sorry," Will found himself whispering, words which he had not been intending to speak. The tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them, and they certainly weren't helping his seemingly futile attempts at unnerving or annoying the other boy. What was he doing? But he could not think of anything to say that would heckle James, so he found himself continuing. "You are sick? I did not know, not really."

James looked down, sadness and pain clouding over his eyes. "It is not something that is easy to speak of; I am not surprised you were not told of it."

"Will you tell me? Is it the reason for your hair, and your eyes? They are of the most extraordinary shade…" His voice was much more eager than he wanted it to be. He wanted to sound cool, and indifferent, almost cruel, but it came out as caring and sympathetic. Sometimes you just couldn't hide your true intentions.

James hesitated, and then let out a breath before saying quietly, in that tuneful voice of his, "The man who killed my family, Yanluo, he was evil beyond words. Thinking about him, it sends my blood boiling. He…he murdered my mother and father in our house in Shanghai, but he did not kill me. He did something much crueller."

James paused, gauging Will's reaction to is story so far, but Will managed to keep his face stony. His eyes were sad though, he knew they were. He couldn't control that sadness from washing over him.

"Instead of killing me that night, Yanluo poisoned me. There is an ancient Chinese drug, _yin fen, _a silvery substance that he forced down my throat. It was the most painful thing I have ever endured, and the aftereffects of it will haunt me for the rest of my life. _Yin fen _is an addictive drug, you see, much like opium or other drugs. And though I hate the sight of it, though the sickly sweet smell disgusts me to my very core, I cannot live without it. I would die if I did not take it, and yet by taking it, I am dying anyway. It is a slow, painful torture, one that I must face."

The words seemed to strike Will at his very core; he could not move or think beyond the wave of sorrow and rage that washed over him. How could this boy, so young like him, be affected by such sadness? He had been sitting in here moping about his unfortunate curse, but he knew that James's was much, much worse. The steely look in his eyes as he'd talked about it, as though he'd already accepted his cruel fate, almost physically pained Will. Something like this should not be allowed to happen; it was simply unfair that James should have been orphaned and then left to die an excruciatingly slow death, addicted to substance he hated.

Will swallowed. "That shouldn't have happened to you, James. It's not right."

James looked surprised. "People don't usually say that to me. Mostly they say 'I'm sorry'."

"Would you have preferred it if I'd apologised, even though there's not really anything for me to apologise for?"

And then James's smile came back, and it pervaded through the sadness on his face, and, ridiculously, Will felt a little hopeful for this boy. He wasn't dead yet after all.

"No. In fact, it would've put my opinions of you far below par. As it is, you've only raised my liking towards you."

Will grinned, and then caught himself. He liked this boy, already, he could tell from this short conversation that they would get along swimmingly. And Will had been so lonely, since running from the only people who loved him into this strange city. All he wanted was a friend.

_He could be your friend, _a treacherous voice within his head whispered. _He's dying anyway, you curse wouldn't affect him, not really. You could let him get close. He's the _only _person you can let get close._

Will wanted to listen to this voice _so _badly. He had resigned himself to a life of annoying people, of distancing himself from everyone so they would not get hurt. And yet this silver-haired boy had waltzed in with a sad story, and now Will had the opportunity to have a friend again.

It would be so selfish though, to allow James to get close to him. He knew the risks, he knew that he would be a bad person in doing this.

"Do you think you could teach me? How to throw knives, that is, not how to take _yin fen._ You're quite extraordinary at it."

Will was too selfish. He always had been.

A blush crept in through James's pale face, injecting life into those cold cheeks. He was clearly a modest person, not used to being complimented. Will was used to the compliments flowing to him freely, half of them from himself but still.

"Only if we can train here together. And be friends. I'm not used to having friends of my own age."

There was clearly more to James's story than he was letting on. But now was not the time to pry.

Will stuck out his hand. "It would be my pleasure, James Carstairs. I have a feeling we're going to be the best of friends."

James reached out and took Will's hand, his hand surprisingly warm within his own. He didn't know why he'd expected it to be cold, maybe as an aftereffect of dying, but he reminded himself that whilst James was ill, he was more alive than ever.

"Me too." He shook will's hand, firmly and confidently. "Oh, and you may call me Jem. It is the name I have always preferred for myself."

Will's blue eyes were twinkling. "Jem it is. Will and Jem. It works, doesn't it?"

Jem nodded. "I like it. Will and Jem…"


	2. The First Time We Said 'I Love You'

**A/N: hey guys! this chapter kind of ran away with me, and not much really happens, oops, but i'm setting down the foundations of the story, and the start of the romance, as there are definitely confused feelings here ;) essentially i thought of the cute mandarin session thing, and then this happened ahah i hope you enjoy! Please read and review **

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><p>It had been around five years since that first meeting between Will and Jem, and they got along better than Will had ever expected.<p>

Since meeting Jem, Will had been inexplicably _lighter; _he finally had someone to talk to, someone to laugh with. The only people he had ever been close to like this before were his sisters, and Jem was nothing like either of them. Jem was simply Jem, an indeterminable mystery that had captivated Will and would not let go. Their friendship was magical, and being around Jem, well it made him a better person. Whilst he had to continue pushing the other residents of the Institute away, he could let Jem get close. He could allow himself to be honest and fun and real with Jem, qualities that he daren't show in front of anyone else.

As they grew up, from awkward young teenagers into blooming young men, their friendship had grown up with them. From mischievous to mature, Jem and Will had grown and shaped each other in ways that neither really understood. Will was so grateful for Jem's company, and even though he felt guilty every time Jem coughed, wondered if he was dying even quicker because of Will, he couldn't stop being friends with Jem, couldn't stop loving Jem. Jem was the brother he'd never had, the best friend he's never known he'd needed.

When Will found himself feeling glum, when the wretchedness that accompanied his stupid curse occasionally crept up on him, Jem's smiling face and glinting silver eyes were there to take it away, because he was allowed to love him, and Jem was allowed to love him back. It was the one small consolation he got. Jem could always life the sadness from his inky, blue eyes.

And when Jem became weak and dizzy after a long period of time without his _yin fen, _it was Will that he reached out towards, gripping his hand like a life line. Which in itself was darkly ironic. But Will was always there to squeeze Jem's hand in return, to whisper soft things at him in hushed tone because he needed Jem to live another day, because Jem deserved to live another day. Will had never met anyone as inherently good as Jem, and Will would do anything to reverse their places, because he knew that Jem was undeniably a better person than him. Will was always the one to get them into trouble, and Jem was the one who got them out of it. That was how their friendship seemed to work. A push and pull, give and take.

There was no one in the world he would ever trust more than Jem. Jem was all he had now, and he was so happy to have him. He couldn't envision how he would cope without him. He had grown accustomed to everything about Jem, from his strange silver hair to his melodic laugh to his knowing, shiny eyes. And Will let Jem know him intimately too. He trusted Jem with his life, and he knew that Jem trusted him too.

Jem made his life at the Institute more bearable. Jessamine continued to consistently dislike him, and whilst he knew that Charlotte and Henry did not love him, thankfully, he knew that he was altogether more tolerable in Jem's presence. He brought out the best in Will, without even realising it half the time.

They were seventeen now, clutching onto the edges of manhood. Will could map out the changes in Jem's appearance over the years: he had grown tall, taller than Will, though only slightly, and he was still very slender, but he was not too thin. His face had become more mature as he had gone through puberty, and he was now a painstakingly beautiful young man.

His hands never changed though, remaining the musician's hands Will had always known them to be.

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><p>Since the first time Jem had seen those inky, blue eyes, he knew that this boy in front of him would be something different. It was his utter determination that drew Jem towards him; the way that he had refused to give up throwing knives at the target, even though he clearly didn't know how to do it properly and was failing abysmally at teaching himself. He hadn't given up, and that had sparked an odd sense of admiration in Jem, and something else, a funny sort of feeling that panged through his body and that Jem couldn't quite name.<p>

He and Will had grown awfully close over the last five years, and Jem felt so guilty for letting Will get that close to him. He knew that it would only make his inevitable death that much more painful for Will, but once he had become friends with him he just couldn't stop, he was far too weak to give something as good as this up. Will was his best friend, which was a new and altogether exciting sensation.

Jem was wandering around the maze-like Institute, his footsteps clacking on the polished floor. Being alone was weird now; he was so used to having Will's laughing voice just a few steps behind him that when he was alone it was like a part of him was missing.

He abruptly turned a corner, lost to his thoughts of Will, and the shade of Will's eyes, and the curve of Will's mouth when he smiled, and promptly nearly knocked Sophie the maid over.

"Jem!" she exclaimed as she stumbled backwards, nearly tripping over her skirt. She was obviously a bit flustered, and her scarred face blushed scarlet. "I should've seen you coming. I'm sorry."

"Nonsense, it was my fault, I was lost in my own little world."

He paused slightly, because he knew that Sophie, not unusually, didn't like nor care for Will that much. Jem had always found it strange that Will was always so real and funny and amicable with him, yet blunt, almost verging on cruel with other people. It pained him that no one else seemed to see the goodness that Jem saw shining out of the other boy; instead they only saw his darkest corners. If Will was himself around everyone else, maybe they would love him like Jem did. As it was though, they either did not know him or had reason to dislike him.

"Say, Sophie, you don't happen to know where Will is?" he asked hesitantly, knowing that Sophie was one of the people who Will particularly didn't get along with.

A look of ill-hidden yet fleeting distaste danced across Sophie's features, before she said, sighing, "He's in the library. Again. Probably burying his head in some gothic novel again, shutting out everything important."

That certainly sounded like Will. When things got the slightest bit difficult, Will lost himself in books, it was his escape, just as playing the violin was Jem's.

"Thank you," he murmured to Sophie, and began to make hi way to the library.

It was truly an extraordinary room, a cavernous expanse filled with shelf upon shelf crammed with countless books, from contemporary novels to books that were so old they looked as if they would crumble upon touch. Jem could understand what attracted Will to this place so much; the smell of the pages of books hung in the air, and there was an endless amount of possibilities to choose upon entering.

He found Will in his favourite corner, a stack of books piled on the floor next to where he lay, his feet on the chair in front of him, but his back on the floor. Will often took to reading in the strangest of positions, which shifted constantly as the events of the books unravelled. One time Jem had walked in to find him with his feet dangling out of the window, another time he had been upside down, dangling off one of the ladders in the library, though admittedly that position hadn't lasted very long after he nearly fell when Jem had spoken his name.

The expression on Will's face as his eyes darted across the page, living some adventure or heart break or joke through the characters was something that would never cease to fascinate Jem. He seemed so serene, even when he was agitated or when there were tears in his eyes. His deep, blue eyes were unseeing lost to all the world apart from the one he was living in at that moment. He was so expressive when he was reading in a way that he rarely was usually, and just seeing him made Jem grin for some reason, and it made his heart beat kind of funnily.

"William," Jem whispered, almost hesitant to break him out of his trance. Will tilted his head away from the book, so he was looking at Jem upside down from the floor. His face broke out into a smile, the smile that Jem was so familiar with, and Jem' heart leapt.

"James. You look funny."

Jem sighed. "That is probably because you are viewing me upside down. I'm sure that position can't be comfortable, or particularly good for you."

The grin on Will's face only widened as he got up, his good mood seemingly etched across his face. "I barely even noticed it, to be honest. I just ended up in this position; I was too absorbed with the book."

Will's good mood was apparently infectious, because Jem found his spirits lifting, and a small smile spread across his face. "I know. Is it a good book?"

"It is a book that is filled with beautiful imagery, and love and it has lifted my spirits, which you can probably tell. Being broody and elusive is so _dull _sometimes, Jem. Being optimistic is much more enjoyable."

"This is most odd of you. What have you done with my dear friend Will, since you are clearly some monster impersonating him. He would never be this jovial."

Will clutched his chest in a mocking gesture. "Oh you wound me, James Carstairs. Am I really seen as a moody person?"

Jem smiled. He smiled so much around Will. "I think that it is because, despite the fact that I'm dying, I am so nice to people, and you are, well, an acquired taste. I simply outshine you in terms of good moods."

Despite the jokey tone in Jem's voice, Will's smile froze, and he turned away ever so slightly, his eyes downcast. "You're not dying, Jem. You can't just say that."

Will's tone of voice was so heart-breaking, and a lump formed in Jem's throat, but he knew what he had to say. "Yes I am, Will. I'm dying, and there's nothing either of us can do about it, so we may as well get used to talking about it, because otherwise it will be so much harder. For me as well as you."

"Saying that you are dying denotes that you've given up. And I don't think I would be able to bear it if you gave up."

Jem leant down and touched Will's arm, trying to be casual but sometimes he just needed to touch Will. Will was Jem's anchor, in so many different ways, many of which Jem couldn't even begin to describe. He looked up at Jem, his iridescent eyes full of pain.

"I'm not giving up, Will, I promise I never will. It's just that I've accepted the likely outcome. It doesn't mean that I have to like it, or that I won't fight for every day that I'm still here."

There was a long silence, like a held breath. The room was thrumming with unspoken tension, and then Jem noticed he was still touching Will's arm, and Will seemed to notice too, and the tension shifted into something else. He knew he should move his hand away, but fingers moved of their own accord and then they were cupping Will's cheek, and Will's skin was so warm underneath his. The effect on Jem was startling: his heart stuttered in his chest like crazy and his thoughts were racing yet he was frozen.

Pink coloured Will's pale cheeks, and finally the atmosphere in the room seemed to snap; Will pulled away from Jem's hand and Jem blushed and took a couple of steps away, opening his mouth to say something, to blurt out some excuse. Will beat him to it though, and his smile was back. The weirdness of the moment seemed to be over, and Will was Will and Jem was Jem and everything was just fine.

"Will you give me another Mandarin lesson, Jem? I've been practising. And hopefully my good mood will make a somewhat less insufferable student." Will had always been good at changing the subject, turning a serious conversation into something trivial.

"Some things just can't be changed, William," he said, letting Will know that he was welcome of the change of subject. There was a weird feeling bubbling around inside of Jem, and he wanted any distraction from it.

"Does that mean yes?" There was mischief behind those blue eyes, and Jem forgot any awkwardness, because he was lost in those eyes again.

"Have I ever said no?"

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><p>Jem had first began to teach Will Mandarin when they were about fourteen, but it was very sporadic; something to do when both of them were bored. Will had tried to teach him Welsh, but Jem had found that he's had no taking for the language whatsoever, and Will laughed at his pronunciation so much that they'd given up. But Will had always been more intrigued by Mandarin, and he knew that it was Jem's first language, the language he spoke for most of his childhood, and he wanted to share that with Jem.<p>

Their lessons had been becoming more frequent, as Will's fluency began to increase, he began to genuinely enjoy the lessons more, and Jem was more than happy to teach him. Because he had no one else to speak it with, whenever he said something in Mandarin that Will understood, he felt like they were sharing their own private moment, something that no one else could share. It felt personal, and when Will spoke to him in the language of his childhood, he couldn't pretend that it didn't thrill him.

Their current lesson was going well, though Jem was running out of ways to teach Will. He was no teacher after all, and he didn't really know what the natural progression for learning a language. He had taken to simply asking Will what words he'd like to learn.

"What would you like to learn today? We've covered so many random topics, I can't predict what will be next." There was a smile in Jem's voice; he loved the fact that Will was so utterly unpredictable like this. They'd spent their last lesson learning various words for breakfast items, and the time before complex grammatical structures.

Will grinned. "Flirtations, my dear James."

"How did I know this was going to come up sooner or later?" he said, shaking his head. "You're such a player, Will."

"On the contrary, I think the word you're looking for is debonair."

"_Ni hen piao liang."_

The tone of his voice had betrayed him. He had meant to wound witty, and to continue with the light-hearted jokes that the conversation had been made up of, but instead it sounded like he was saying something serious and full of meaning. There was a weight to his words that he didn't really understand, and Jem's voice felt thick after saying it.

Will must have sensed the shift, because there was not a hint of banter in his voice as he said, "What does that mean?"

Jem couldn't manage more than a whisper.

"It means 'You are beautiful'."

He wasn't sure why saying innocent phrases like this was so nerve-wracking for Jem. He wasn't even saying the words _to _Will, merely teaching him the words so that he could use them to woo various girls.

And yet he was embarrassed and very inappropriately overcome with the desire to say these things to Will properly, because it was true. He _did _think Will was beautiful, but perhaps not in a romantic way. It was perfectly normal to recognise that your friend was attractive, even if they were of the same gender.

Wasn't it?

Will looked down, and then back at Jem. "Well, that's certainly a useful phrase then," he murmured, softly. It felt as if both of them were walking on ice, not really sure where to tread next.

They continued like this for a while, each time Jem said something that he tried to make sound effortless, but each time he said romantic words to Will, even though he wasn't saying them to him in that way, his voice hitched without him meaning for it too, and he almost stuttered. He couldn't seem to raise his voice to more than a whisper, and Will's voice was soft too. Jem, who knew Will better than anyone, all of a sudden couldn't read him at all. It was altogether unnerving, the whole situation.

The worlds tumbled out of Jem's mouth before he could stop them. "Wo ai ni."

They were the most confident words Jem had spoken since the whole ordeal had started, which startled him. He knew that the words were the truth: he loved Will more than anyone, but he'd never said that. He'd just assumed that Will knew how he felt, the way that he knew that Will loved him. They were best friends, of course they loved each other.

But saying them made it real, and all of a sudden Jem wasn't sure exactly how he loved Will. Love like this was something that he couldn't quite wrap his head around.

"Wo ai ni?" His voice was quiet, and so familiar yet so distant.

"I love you." He was so very nearly tempted to say Will at the end, to address the words to him, but he stopped himself and pushed down the urge, unsure how Will would react.

Then Will did something that Jem will never forget: he reached over so his hand was on top of Jem's and said, without any tentativeness, "Wo ai ni, James."

Jem's breath caught in his throat, and that feeling was back in the room again, unidentifiable and infuriating, yet exciting at the same time. He could hear his heart pudding in his chest, and could feel Will's stuttering pulse from their small contact.

"Wo ye ai ni, William." I love you too.

The feeling was electrifying, and all of a sudden their hands weren't enough; Jem wanted to touch Will all over, to feel his hot skin against his. The thought brought heat flooding to his cheeks, and he pushed it down into the deep crevices of his mind. He couldn't afford to even think things like that.

It was Jem who finally pulled away, casting his eyes downwards after what seemed like an eternity of stillness, of Will's violet eyes meeting his silver ones.

The words that were finally spoken, and the words that were still left unspoken, lingered in the room and the two boys. The dynamics of their relationship had changed, and they both knew it, but neither of them wanted to face it just yet.


End file.
